Adapt and Survive
by Zutara90
Summary: Splinter Cell: Conviction (Book) Fanfic Sam and Ben's plans for the auction don't go so well and the team is left scrambling to pick up the pieces. Not only are they in danger of losing the arsenal, but they may very well lose their lives as well. Will this be the end of Sam Fisher? Or will his experience see him through another day? Rated T for violence and some language.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** A reimagining of the ending of Splinter Cell: Conviction (the book, not the game!). I love this book. It's my favorite of all the Splinter Cell books. I couldn't get this alternate storyline out of my head after reading it, so I just decided to write it down. If you haven't read the book (and don't care about reading it in the future), here's the basic plotline:

Sam is on the run since the aftermath of Splinter Cell: Double Agent and Ben Hanson and his team (Maya Valentina, Kim Gillespie, Nathan Noboru, and Allen Ames) are trying to track him down and bring him in (this takes place before the events of Splinter Cell: Conviction the game). Meanwhile Sam is trying to find the 738 Arsenal, a massive stolen arsenal of high powered weaponry. Eventually they team up to place trackers on the arsenal at the auction and Ames is outed as a mole for Kovac (the head of Third Echelon who has ties to the auction). Ames escapes their custody, but the rest continue on to the auction regardless.

I posted the first 2 chapters together because the first one is pretty short, but I will be posting a chapter a week from here on out, most likely on Fridays. Please leave a comment with your thoughts on the story and, as always, enjoy!

UPDATE 5/6/19: The full story is now up!

**Chapter One**

They were so close now Sam could taste it.

But even as the thought flickered through Sam's mind, another more sinister twin to it was lurking just a step behind. They had cleared the top level without incident, finding a sizeable stash of the 738 Arsenal that they promptly tagged with the nanobots. It had been easy enough to find the stockpile and they hadn't encountered a soul along the way.

Sam wasn't complaining that it was so easy, but it did nag him in a way he couldn't fully put into words. Where were the buyers? The guards? It could very well be that they were all down on the lower levels, but could it really be this simple? At this rate, they would be in and out with no one the wiser to their presence within the hour.

All of this passed through Sam's mind as the five of them made their way down to the second sublevel. They stalked down the concrete ramp and Sam still marveled at just how massive the underground complex was. The ramp they occupied ran around a central shaft that ran the height of the complex, the bottom floor lost to darkness beyond the scope of their night vision goggles. The shaft itself was a good thirty feet across and the ramp another fifteen. On each of the four floors were four offshoots to various sections of the facility—Medical, Electronics, Weapons, and Ballistics. Suitably, the first cache of the arsenal they had found was in the ballistics wing. Sam assumed the other two-thirds or so of it would be scattered among the lower three levels of Ballistics as well. Even so, as they came around to the second level, Sam had them split off one to each wing, with him staying in the center and covering wherever he might be needed.

With nods from his four companions who then set off to their own tasks, Sam sunk himself into a dark corner to wait, eyes and ears alert and searching.

The utter silence pressed in on Sam, unnerving him even further. Not in a way that made him afraid, but somehow it stroked that nerve that always told Sam something was wrong. Things were too quiet. Even in such a large facility, there should be some kind of noise—footsteps, chattering voices, scuffling, shifting. Anything. Life was never silent. And Sam knew there had to be hundreds of buyers gathered to such an auction with ample security to match.

It still bothered Sam that they hadn't been able to figure out who was holding the auction. If they at least had that bit of information, he would have had a better guess at what kind of forces they would be facing. He hated going into a situation blind. But they hadn't had a choice. Just like Sam hadn't had a choice in joining together with Hansen and his team. Not that he regretted it, except maybe for the fact that Ames had gotten away.

Sam shoved away the thought. That score would have to be settled another day. Right now he needed to focus on the task at hand.

Five minutes passed with nothing but radio silence coming through Sam's earpiece. They had had to scrounge for gear before they came, trading their OPSATs for prepaid phones with wireless headsets lest Kovac get any word of their presence at the auction. It was too risky to even bring them along with the GPS tracking they had installed. Better to leave them at the motel and let Kovac think they had lost the trail.

Just as Sam was about to activate his headset and ask for a status report, a flicker of movement caught his eye from the next level down. From the brief flash, it had seemed like someone darting into a doorway, but it had been too quick for Sam to tell. Now Sam debated whether or not he should check it out. It could take the team another fifteen or twenty minutes to search the rest of the level and they didn't have time to wait. Sam wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. Plus there were undoubtedly more ways to get up and down to the other floors other than the ramp and Sam didn't want to lose this person. They could very well lead him to the rest of the buyers or auction staff. Sam couldn't pass up the opportunity to gather more intel, which was something they were severely lacking.

"Saw something down on the next level," he whispered into his headset. "Everyone keep up the search. I'm going to check it out."

"Roger that. Be careful," was all that came back through from Ben before that unnatural silence settled in once more.

Carefully, Sam picked his way down the ramp, staying to the deep shadows that hung between each cone of light shining from the wall-mounted sconces. Once on the lower level, Sam located the door where he had seen the disturbance. He crouched by the entrance, listening for movement on the other side.

Nothing.

Ever so slowly, he peeked around the corner, but he could see no more than a few feet into the large room. He was on the ballistics side of the complex and if this room was anything like the one above, then it was nearly a hundred yards long and just as wide; an enormous open space for building and testing missiles and rocket engines. The room was pitch-black, the only light coming in from the lights bordering the doorway.

Sam pulled his head back and flicked his night vision goggles down. A small whining hum sounded as they activated and filled his vision with grainy green images. They were certainly no Third Echelon caliber gear, but they would do. He peered around the corner again. He could see further now, but not by much. There just wasn't enough light for even the night vision to pick up.

_Why would someone have gone in here in the dark?_ Sam asked himself. Granted, whoever it was knew the facility layout better than Sam. There could very well be a doorway just a few steps away that led to some other part of the complex. Regardless of the reason, Sam had to continue on. He had to find this person. He had to find someone, if only to assuage his own sense of unease.

Committing himself to the action, Sam swung around the open doorway, silenced pistol up and ready as he looked left and then right. He stepped a few steps into the room, the darkness encompassing him further and the exposure on his goggles brightening to compensate. Ahead of him he could now see a few towering stacks of boxes and shelves stacked high with weapon and ammo cases. Nothing that they were looking for though. No, these were decades old by the looks of them, covered in such a thick layer of dust that it was impossible to distinguish what was what.

Sam headed further in, meticulously checking his flanks as he went, though that became harder and harder as the room widened out to its full extent. Just as he was coming level with the first stack of boxes, a beam of light poured directly into his face, blinding him through his goggles. Instinctively, Sam pulled to the right to shield himself behind the boxes, but a body crashed into him before he could get to cover. He staggered backward, trying to pull his feet underneath himself, but the person continued to shove into him. Sam struggled to obtain some manor of control over the situation, even to get a blind shot off onto his attacker, but the man had grabbed Sam's gun hand and had forced it out to the side. As they passed the doorway, Sam's hand smashed into the frame of the door and his pistol went flying, Sam's arm bowing in from the impact.

At this point, he still couldn't see anything. The goggles had overcompensated for the flash of light and had gone virtually black. His Third Echelon gear was able to adjust brightness practically as fast as the human eye, but these knockoffs weren't nearly as good. They were still recovering when Sam felt himself slam into what he assumed was the concrete half-wall that comprised the edge of the ramp. Past that three foot wall was a dead drop into the open space of the central shaft.

And in the next second, Sam was tumbling over it, his only view the face of his attacker as his night vision goggles finally adjusted to the light.

Ames had come back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Light and dark swirled before Sam as he fell ten feet to the bottom level of the complex. He managed to bring his feet underneath himself before crashing into the concrete floor, saving him from the instant death of snapping his neck, but his right knee crumpled with a painful _pop_, and Sam's momentum carried him backwards. He fell hard onto his back and felt several ribs crack from the blow. They had already been bruised from the car crash into the river just a few days ago and couldn't hold up under the extra strain. Still, Sam was somehow able to get his arms underneath himself and push himself up over his shoulders to land in a heap near the bottom of the ramp, gasping to fill his emptied lungs.

At the same time, shouting and gunfire echoed down from above.

Sam reached to his earpiece to hail Ben, but found it missing, probably lost in the fall. Wincing at the movement, Sam reached up to rip his goggles off, both out of necessity and frustration at their failure. They would do him little good now in any case in the mostly well-lit lobby of the ground floor. Finally pulling some air into his lungs, Sam pushed himself to his feet, grunting at the pain flaring through his leg and side.

Ahead and a little to Sam's right, Ames was descending the ramp almost at a leisurely pace, a self-satisfied smirk spreading his cheeks. When he reached the bottom, Ames snapped up a pistol and trained it on Sam's head.

Sam couldn't help the sneer that curled his lip.

Ames cocked his head. "Good to see you again, Sam."

"Wish I could say the same," Sam shot back. He straightened himself as best he could, not wanting to show any kind of weakness, though he doubted Ames would miss the slight hunch to Sam's left shoulder or the unnatural bend in his right knee. Wanting to give himself more time to recover and, frankly, out of pure curiosity, Sam continued, "You warned them, didn't you? That we were coming?"

The smile that overtook Ames' face was all the answer Sam needed, though Ames didn't leave it there. "You're damn right I did." He was angry now, his brow furrowing. "You thought you had beaten me, didn't you? Thought your little stunt with the gasoline had me curling into a ball in the corner? But you idiots left me all alone, gave me plenty of time to escape. And instead of running away, I came here. Came here and warned everyone off. Your little auction? The buyers? They're all gone. They'll be half a day away by now, beyond your reach." Ames smiled again. "You've failed, Sam."

"The arsenal, I've seen it," Sam countered, though he could already guess at Ames' reply.

The man scoffed. "You've seen part of it. A third, maybe. But nothing of much importance. The really good stuff was loaded up as soon as I was able to get word to the man in charge."

"And who might that be?"

Ames seemed to study the expression on Sam's face for a moment before answering. "You really don't know, do you? And everyone thinks so highly of you." Ames rolled his eyes. "The great Sam Fisher. I'd have thought you would have figured it out by now." He shook his head. "I'm not going to be the one to spoil the surprise."

Sam could feel the conversation turning now, that pull on his chest borne of countless encounters that told him a fight was imminent. Only, in this arena, with the current circumstances, Sam had no chance. Ames had a gun to his head and it would take but a second for him to end Sam's life. Even if Sam somehow managed to dodge the first bullet with some unexpected movement, Ames was too good a shot and cover was too far for Sam to make it more than a few steps.

But Sam did have one ace up his sleeve. He knew Ames. Knew his strengths and his weaknesses. Knew them better than probably Ames himself. But then, that had been Sam's job. Back when he had been on better terms with Third Echelon, Sam had seen to a lot of Ames' training himself and the rest he had at least overseen. Even now Sam believed Ames would have made a good Splinter Cell—in fact he could have been one of the best. But Ames' temperament had always held him back. Sam had said as much in his final evaluation of the man and Ames clearly believed Sam to be the reason he had been relegated to "lesser" tasks. But that grudge only confirmed Sam's assessment that Ames was quick to anger and, in a job like this, keeping a level head was as important (or perhaps even more important) than any other skill or weapon in a Splinter Cell's arsenal. Of course, then there were the unresolved childhood issues still simmering beneath the surface of Ames' carefully manicured façade—the fire that had taken Ames' family when he was young and the lingering guilt that Ames hadn't burned along with them.

Sam would have to stoke that fire again to stand a chance at making it out of this alive.

"Go ahead then," Sam began, "end this. Clearly you've been waiting long enough for this chance." He paused. "Or were you hoping that gravity would have done the work for you?" Sam asked, glancing at the landing above. "I guess if I were in your position, I would have wanted to cripple me too. There aren't very many people that could best me." Sam gave Ames a once over as though he were no threat to Sam even in his current state.

The mirth dropped from Ames' face, though he still held his gun at the ready.

_Careful now, Sam. Don't push him too hard._

"Don't think you can play me," Ames sneered. "You think you're so special. You think you're so perfect. Everywhere I went, it was Sam Fisher this, Sam Fisher that. Sam Fisher, the legend who can do no wrong, who can never fail." Ames was grinding his teeth now. "Well I've got news for you, _Sam_. You have failed. And it's all thanks to me! The man who supposedly wasn't cut out to be a Splinter Cell. You think you're some big threat? You're nothing but an old man, too blind and stupid to see that he's past his prime."

Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe. I guess we'll never know."

"Any last words, Sam?" Ames asked over his pistol, some of the menace returning to his features. "I'll make sure to pass them along to Grim," he added with a smile, clearly thinking he had struck some low blow.

On the contrary, Sam let the taunt wash right over him. Then offered one himself. "Nope. How about you?"

The confusion on Ames' face was obvious.

Sam went on, clarifying, "Do you have a message you want me to give to your family?" There was outrage on Ames' face now. "Seeing as how I'll be seeing them soon, I thought you might want me to say something to them." Sam scoffed, letting pure disdain drip into his voice. "Though I can't imagine they would want to hear anything from you."

At Sam's words, the pistol had dropped a fraction and an unbridled rage was building behind Ames' eyes.

"Shut up," Ames ordered with deadly quiet.

Still speaking coolly, Sam acted as though he hadn't heard. "Your mother, your father, your _little sister_," Sam listed, putting as much emphasis onto the last entry as he could. "I'd think sending them a message would be the least you could d—"

Before Sam could finish the sentence, Ames had chucked his gun to the side and was charging at Sam. Sam was ready for him, but couldn't account for his injuries and Ames ploughed into him with such force that he was forced backward against one of the pillars that were spread equally around the central shaft.

"I'm gonna wring your fucking neck!" Ames cried as he pummeled Sam, punctuating each word with a bone-crunching blow.

Sam weathered the storm, keeping his arms up to protect his head until he found an opening and ducked under Ames' arm. He came around and grabbed Ames by the back of the neck and smashed his face into the pillar. Ames' nose crunched and blood spattered the concrete, but Ames recovered quickly and backed out of Sam's grip.

In the lull, Sam drew the knife he had sheathed at his hip and held it at the ready. Ames marked the new threat, but seemed unperturbed by it, drawing his own knife in response. Making the first move, Ames swiped at Sam and from that move alone, Sam could tell that Ames wasn't very proficient with a blade. He would have had basic training, of course, but it seemed as though Ames hadn't had much chance to practice his skills beyond that.

_Good_.

Moving no more than necessary both out of experience and to save his leg, Sam leaned back just far enough to dodge Ames' slashing arc. Ames corrected and came at Sam again, cutting a diagonal across Sam. This time Sam deflected the blade with his own, still waiting for the right opportunity to counter. With his bad leg, Sam was better off letting Ames make a mistake rather than trying to force some opening. Flustered by his lack of success, Ames kept up a flurry of slashes and obvious feints that Sam didn't even bother recognizing. And then Sam spotted it. The opening he had been waiting for.

Ames jabbed at Sam's left side, aiming for the kidneys. Sam knew that doing so would leave Ames vulnerable, with his arm extended as it would be. So Sam sidestepped the glinting blade and brought his own around to come in behind Ames' and stab into his hand as Ames withdrew. As planned, Sam's knife went straight into the base of Ames' thumb, forcing him to drop the knife with a shocked grunt. But Sam wasn't done there. He pressed his advantage and brought the blade back down toward Ames' leg, seeking to slice through the tendon at the top of his knee and debilitate him.

Only Ames didn't take too well to being disarmed.

Unexpectedly, Ames actually drew in closer to Sam rather than try to dodge out of the way. The razor edge landed mid-thigh and although it cut a deep gash there, it was only a flesh wound. Ames didn't even acknowledge the pain, instead bringing his knee up into Sam's chest, throwing him backward a step. While Sam was off balance, Ames took another step forward and proved that he had been paying attention to Sam's condition after all—he kicked straight into the inside of Sam's bad knee, torqueing it outward. Stars flashed before Sam's eyes as pain lanced through his leg and he had to bite back his own grunt to keep himself in the fight.

But Ames was too street savvy to miss the opportunity he had just created. He barged into Sam before he could recover, tackling him to the ground.

The next thing Sam knew, Ames was straddling him, landing a right hook into Sam's broken ribs. Sam reflexively curled inward, but brought his knife up at the same time to slash for Ames' face. Ames, once again, did something wholly unexpected. Rather than dodging back, Ames deflected the blow with his bare hand, earning him a gash across his palm; however, at this point, Ames was in such a bloodlust that the wound didn't seem to faze him. He simply swiped the knife across his chest and caught Sam's hand with his right as it passed. He wasn't able to pry the knife from Sam's hand, but then, he didn't need to. He twisted it around and aimed it at Sam's chest, Sam bringing up his left arm to stop it mid-strike, his body shaking with the effort of keeping it there.

In that moment of pause, Sam realized that all had gone quiet, that the commotion that had been raging on above (and growing ever closer) had ceased. There was no shouting, no gunfire. Sam hoped that Ben and his team had fared better than he had.

Staring up at the feral glee lighting Ames' face as he bore down on him, Sam fought desperately to overthrow his attacker. But Ames was putting everything he had into plunging the knife deep into Sam's chest and he, quite literally, had the upper hand.

While his hands were gripping the knife, Ames' knees were digging into Sam's sides, burrowing further and further into the broken ribs there. Sam was panting and groaning from the effort and pain, spit flying from between his clenched teeth. All he could do was watch as the knife inched little by little toward his chest.

Not yet ready to give up, Sam cast his eyes around him, searching for anything that might turn the tide.

_There!_

Lost and forgotten in the initial scuffle, Ames' gun lay just a few feet away. The problem was, it may as well have been fifty feet away for all the good it did Sam right now. He couldn't reach it from that position and even if he could, he couldn't afford to spare a hand to grab it.

All of these problems flitted through Sam's mind, but no solution seemed willing to present itself.

Until one insane idea popped into Sam's head. It wasn't going to be easy, and it certainly wasn't going to be fun, but it was all Sam had. For it to work though, Ames needed to be distracted, even if only a little.

"Too bad your pretty face looks like shit now," Sam grunted through his teeth. "You should have just shot me."

Ames just flashed a wild grin. "Wouldn't want it to be too quick, now would I? Besides, now we all know who's really the better Splinter Ce—"

Giving no indications as to his intentions beforehand, Sam suddenly shoved himself upward, impaling his left shoulder onto his own knife and headbutting Ames as he went. The pain was intense, but Sam was so intent on his task that it barely pricked his focus. With Ames recoiling, Sam rolled them over, reversing their positions and coming out on top of Ames, who was so shocked by Sam's sudden maneuver that he put up little resistance.

Though Sam had only planned to come within reach of the gun, as luck would have it, Ames ended up falling with his head perfectly in line with barrel, no more than a foot away.

At this point, Sam was willing to take whatever luck he could get.

Now it was Sam's turn to do what Ames should have done in the first place. Hesitation was for the inexperienced and Sam may have been a lot of things, but inexperienced was not one of them. As soon as Ames' head passed in front of the barrel, Sam pulled the trigger, not even bothering to lift the gun in order to do it. The bullet struck true, splattering blood and brain matter across the floor, the shot echoing around them in the deathly quiet that had fallen.

Sam just stared at the bloody mess of a man that should have been an ally, a friend, and hated the fact that Ames had brought this to himself.

_I wish we didn't, _Sam silently answered Ames' final words.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Ames' jaw worked up and down a few times with whatever nerve ends were still firing, but after a few seconds his body fell still and his eyes glassed over.

Still holding onto the gun, Sam pushed himself to his feet and stumbled backward away from Ames' lifeless body until he collided with another pillar, the knife still skewering his shoulder. Panting, from both exhaustion and the pain that radiated from his shoulder, Sam switched the gun to his left hand, preparing himself for what he was about to do.

Carefully, he gripped the knife protruding from his left shoulder, the point of which had dug so deep that it was poking out the other side. Sam grunted with the sudden jolt of pain. Smoothly, so as not to damage anything further, Sam slid the knife out of his shoulder, breathing heavy breaths through his teeth all the while. Heaving out a final held breath, Sam extricated the last of the knife and took a moment to steady himself, wiping the blade clean and sheathing it without conscious thought as he did so.

Just as he was catching his breath, the sound of footsteps came scurrying down the ramp. Instantly on the alert, Sam pulled himself around the corner of the pillar right before the men reached the bottom floor. There were more than two of them, of that, Sam was sure. Beyond that, however, he couldn't tell from sound alone. The steps grew closer and Sam wanted nothing more than to be able to peer around the corner to assess the new threat. But he knew that the shadows weren't deep enough to hide him should any of them be looking his way. Luckily for Sam, the men decided to make it easier for him.

"Is that him?" one of them asked, clearly referring to Ames' corpse.

"That's him. Guess Fisher got the better of him after all. Knew that boy wouldn't last long. Come on, he has to be here somewhere."

So they knew Ames had been after Sam. He had probably sent them off to deal with the others while Ames dealt with Sam himself. Typical. Sam would have expected nothing less.

The conversation was doing more than just providing Sam with trivial information, though. From it, Sam could get a more accurate count on how many men there were trudging toward him. There were the two talking. That was obvious. And with their locations pinpointed, Sam could determine how many others there were. One of the men speaking was to Sam's left, the other to his right. But there were another set of footsteps coming from either side as well. That meant four men in total. With that count in mind, Sam broadened his senses, picturing their locations in his mind and marking them for when he would make his move.

Of course, as he was making these calculations, Sam realized that he had unwittingly chosen a terrible location to hide, not that he had had any time to make a decision. The only thing behind Sam's pillar was a blank concrete wall. The doors leading to the different branches of the facility were several yards away, nearly equidistant in either direction. With the men coming up on either side of Sam, he would have no chance to move to a different location and they would soon have him surrounded. If they continued on as they were, Sam's best bet to take them down would be to kill the two on his right first, swivel around the pillar for cover, and hope to be able to kill the remaining two before they got him.

The footsteps were close now. In two seconds, they would be within view. Sam pulled his gun up to his chest, stepping away from the pillar slightly to give himself more room to maneuver.

_Almost_.

Sam pulled in a preparatory breath and moved.

But just as he took aim on the first man to his right, two shots boomed out of nowhere and slammed into that man's face and the face of the man beyond him.

Instinctively, Sam pulled back into cover, but his brain assessed the situation quickly enough. The only other people that would be firing on these men down here were Ben and his team, which meant the only remaining threat was the two men now behind him.

In less than a second, Sam swiveled, aimed, and fired at the man closest on his left, who had just ducked behind another pillar at the sound of the shots. That left only one.

The last man had also taken cover behind a pillar, but it was further away and Sam didn't have a clear shot due to the curve in the arrangement of the pillars. Sam took a step out from cover to bring the man into full view and took aim. The man still hadn't seen Sam yet, probably thinking all of the shots had come from across the room, or that any shots coming from their side of the room had been fired by his companions.

Sam sighted in a headshot as he took another step clear of the pillar, squeezed the trigger—and missed. Sam's leg crumpled underneath him with the sidestep just as the bullet took flight. It ended up gouging a hole in the concrete an inch from the man's head.

If there was any doubt as to Sam's whereabouts before, it was gone now. The man flinched at the sudden impact so near his head, but recovered quickly and easily spotted Sam, who had automatically thrown his hands out to regain his balance. The man pulled his gun around to Sam, a smug smile on his face; a face that somehow seemed familiar.

Another shot boomed from across the room, the bullet finding its target in the smug man's hands that he had so carelessly stuck out from behind the pillar to target Sam. A sharp yelp escaped his lips, but his agony didn't last long. Instead of continuing to try to find his balance, Sam dropped to the floor and fired off two rounds into the man's chest.

As the echoes died away, all fell silent.

Still hidden from the newcomers' sight, Sam could nonetheless sense their aim shift toward him. "Friendly!" he called before their trigger fingers got too itchy. Sometimes it wasn't always clear who was firing at whom in the heat of a firefight, especially since they hadn't known he was there to begin with and Sam wasn't about to be caught up in accidental friendly fire.

Sam paused a moment, not really wanting to step out until he was sure he wouldn't be shot by mistake.

After a moment, a voice, Ben's voice, called, "Sam?"

"It's me." Sam hauled himself to his feet and skirted the pillar to reveal himself. The looks on all of their faces gave Sam a pretty good idea of how rough he must have looked at the moment.

Ben stepped forward. "Jesus Christ, Sam. What the hell happened?" he asked, alarm written across his face.

At the same time, Gillespie came forward, pulling the group's medical supplies from her pockets. Of course, "medical supplies" was a very loose term. What she pulled out was some gauze and a roll of duct tape. That and some super glue made up a standard makeshift medical kit. Sam didn't want to think about how many times he had had to patch himself up using those very items. The stab wound in his shoulder was a bit much for such low-tech supplies, but at least it would stop the bleeding.

Gillespie gestured for Sam to sit and he was more than willing to comply. He really hadn't had much time to recover from Ames' initial attack and the break was a welcome respite. Though there wasn't much relaxing as Sam worked to tug off the left sleeve of his parka and pain shot up his side. He ground his teeth to drive off the pain and slowly pulled his shirt up from the bottom to give Kim access to his shoulder.

Her expression betrayed her shock at the gruesomeness of his many injuries, though she made no remark. A dark bruise painted the side of Sam's chest, a reminder of his broken ribs, and blood was smeared over his entire left side and dripped down his arm. It wasn't enough that Sam was in danger of bleeding out, but it was enough that he would have been had his injury gone untreated for much longer.

As Gillespie got to work on his shoulder, Sam turned his attention back to Ben. "Ames jumped me," Sam replied, his breath hitching as Gillespie shoved a wad of gauze into Sam's wound. "But he won't be causing any more trouble."

Hansen, Noboru, and Valentina followed Sam's gaze toward Ames' bloodied corpse. Noboru and Valentina seemed almost pleased, but Ben let out a sigh of something like regret.

Ben shook his head. "I still can't believe it." His eyes shot back to Sam. "I mean, I—I can, but…" His words trailed off, but Sam didn't need him to finish to know what he was trying to say.

By this time, Gillespie had taped a patch of gauze onto Sam's chest and back and looped one final round of tape under his arm and over his shoulder to apply some pressure. Tenderly, Sam slid his arm back into his coat and took Gillespie's proffered hand to help him stand back up. "Thanks," he nodded to her before turning back to Ben. "Unfortunately, enemies aren't always on foreign soil. And Ames won't be the last of them either." Sam held Ben's gaze for a moment then cast a glance at Ames.

But there was something else that was drawing Sam's attention. He hobbled over to the man he had shot in the chest. There was something nagging at Sam about the man; his face kept flashing through Sam's mind, but he just couldn't place it. He played through the encounter in his head, trying to glean some sort of useful information. And then it hit him. They had been speaking with English accents. Sam had recognized their voices from before but he was too busy trying to figure out how to take them down that he hadn't put it together. Now it all came into view.

"Son of a bitch," Sam muttered under his breath.

"What? What is it?" Ben and his team had gathered next to Sam, Noboru and Valentina taking the initiative to watch the ramp in case anyone else came after them.

Sam cursed himself for being so stupid. He should have seen it before. He lifted his gaze to Ben's. "Charles Zahm," he stated simply.

"The guy who stole the arsenal? What about him?"

"He didn't just steal it, he's in charge. He set up the whole thing." Sam pointed to the four fallen men. "These are his men. I recognize them from his villa." It all made sense now: why Zahm would have bothered stealing the arsenal, why he would have kept such a detailed list of its contents, even Ames' veiled comments. How could he not have seen it? Sam swore. "I had him. Back at his villa, I had him and I let him go."

"You couldn't possibly have known."

Sam was kicking himself internally, but getting angry wasn't going to solve anything. They were already running behind thanks to Ames. They needed to get moving.

Just then, Sam noticed the ear bud peeking out from the dead man's ear. Sam plucked it out and held it up to his own ear. He could hear the buzz of someone talking as it neared, but only caught the last bit of what they were saying: "…have to assume you and Ames are KIA. This is your last chance." After that, there was a bit of static and then radio silence. The English accent told Sam it was more of Zahm's men on the other end, probably checking in on the men that had come down after Ames.

They clearly weren't going to get an answer.

Chucking the ear bud, Sam returned his attention to Ben, who was waiting with a questioning look. Sam dismissed the unspoken query with a wave of his hand and went back to what Ben had said before Sam had gotten sidetracked.

"It doesn't matter now. We need to get out of here and track him down. There's no way he's going to want to sit on that arsenal for long. He's going to reschedule the auction at some point. We just have to be there when he does." Sam jerked his head toward the ramp. "Let's get out of here. I don't think there's any point in lingering. I doubt there's anything else of use here." Sam held Ben up for a moment as they all made to go. "What happened to you, by the way? I heard gunfire, but you all seem to be alright for the most part." In fact, they all seemed in perfect health aside from scattered cuts and bruises and some blood running down Valentina's arm.

"We were ambushed just after you said you were going down to the lower level. Must have been over a dozen of them. We managed to work our way back to each other and hold them off. Even take out the majority of them. I don't think they expected us to have as much firepower as we did. And they certainly didn't expect us to have an ARWEN. As soon as they realized that their numbers were dropping off a lot faster than ours, they retreated back up the ramp. There were only a handful left when they did. I'm not sure where this group came from," Hansen added, nodding to the four dead around them. "Maybe they were waiting to back up Ames. Maybe they peeled off from the group attacking us. I honestly couldn't say. In any case, we heard a gunshot from the lower level so we came down here, looking for you."

"Good thing you did," Sam admitted.

"Yeah, well, let's just hope they're not waiting for us to come back up."

"I guess we'll just have to find out. Come on, let's go."

Noboru and Valentina had already moved a ways toward the ramp and Gillespie moved in behind them, all three of their automatic weapons held at the ready. Ben made to help Sam, who was limping badly, but Sam motioned him forward.

"I'll be fine. If there is an ambush set up for us, then your team is going to need you up with them more than I'll need you back here."

It didn't seem that Ben agreed, but eventually he nodded and moved up with the rest of his team. It was slow-going for Sam to move across the clearing to the ramp. He had to balance himself perfectly over his bad knee to keep it from giving out to either side. Even still, it only just held out long enough for him to make it to the half-wall before it collapsed beneath him. Sam snorted, more out of surprise than pain when his knee jutted out from underneath him. His four compatriots paused as Sam caught himself on the wall.

"Keep going," he bade them, waving them onward. They complied only once Sam had steadied himself and started up the ramp.

He made much better progress now that he had the wall as a crutch, even though his knee was completely shot. Whatever integrity it had still possessed until that point, Sam had just blown through. It wouldn't hold his weight at all.

Sam ploughed on regardless, all five of them heading up to the second level at a steady pace, Sam, naturally, trailing a few yards behind the others. However, as they ascended, that horrible feeling in the pit of Sam's stomach returned, the feeling that they were still missing something.

Why would Zahm's men have retreated? It was true that they could have underestimated Hansen's team, but Zahm's men were highly trained as well. Why would they have set up an ambush if they weren't prepared to see it through? There had to have been some kind of secondary plan in place. The only question was, what was it?

As Sam was placing himself in Zahm's shoes, trying to figure out what he would do were he in his place, Sam's knee gave out again. They had just reached the second level and Sam, in his distraction, had lifted his leg in anticipation of continuing up the ramp, only the floor had leveled out. He fell forward and came down hard on his knee, which promptly jerked to the side. Whatever thread of a ligament was still holding it in place snapped and Sam cried out. His knee had already been throbbing badly, but now it felt like someone were repeatedly swinging a baseball bat into it. He ducked his head, struggling to control the pain through his ragged breaths. When he looked up again, Ben was heading back toward him, his hand extended.

"Just let me help you, Sam." Ben's expression was nothing if not exasperated, like Sam were some stubborn child refusing help from his parents.

There was a bit of stubbornness to Sam's refusal, he had to admit, but it was more than that. He truly did believe there was more to Zahm's play here, and Sam wasn't going to be a hindrance to any of them. He couldn't be if they were going to make it out of this.

"I'm fine," Sam ground out through his teeth. "Just keep going."

Ben opened his mouth to say something more, but before he could, a massive explosion shook the complex, sending all of them stumbling.

"What the hell was that?" Valentina asked, looking around for the source.

"Sounded like C4," Noboru answered.

"They're trying to bring this place down on us!" Gillespie cried, her gaze darting between her compatriots'.

_That wasn't above us_, Sam thought as she said it. Then, before his brain could fully comprehend why, he was moving, barreling toward Ben as fast as he could, shouting, "Get back! Move! Move! Move!"

It was the roaring that had set him into motion. A roaring he had instinctively recognized. Of course, Sam's knee didn't care what perils were racing toward them and he only managed a few agonizing steps, just enough to shove Ben back, before Sam went down.

In the next moment, a colossal wall of water came crashing through the Ballistics doorway and clipped Sam, who had just cleared the edge of the opening. As he went down, the water rushed over him and all was lost to its swirling torrent.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The water was bone-chillingly cold. So much so that it sucked what little breath Sam had gotten right out of his lungs. He struggled against the thrashing current, finally finding the floor beneath him enough to push off and get his head above water. But it was only there for a moment before he was forced back under again. And then, out of nowhere, the floor dropped out from underneath Sam. He threw up his hands desperately, searching for anything to grab ahold of. His hand met a hard piece of metal and Sam clamped down on it instinctively. Once his body jerked to a stop, Sam could finally take in the extent of his predicament.

The water had come from the ballistics wing, the C4 obviously set as a trap to flood the complex and drown anyone trapped inside. It made sense. The secret bunker must have been situated next to Lake Frolikha as a means for cooling in the ballistics department. Now the lake was flooding in.

On initial impact, the force of the water had blasted through the half-wall on the edge of the ramp. Sam was lucky not to have taken the full brunt of the crashing wave. Rather, he had been knocked down by the spreading froth and swept up in its residual current.

Sam had slipped over the edge of the hole the water had created and was now grasping onto a piece of rebar that was jutting out through the gap, his body dangling just low enough beneath the waterfall that he could draw breath.

Unfortunately, he didn't have many options. He couldn't fight the torrential flood pounding down on him and the cold was sapping his strength with every second. He would have to let himself fall. But there were only a few inches of water at the bottom, a foot at best. Sam knew he couldn't land on his feet. He only had one good leg and there was no way it could take the full impact. He would have to land flat then. And hope that there was enough water to break his fall.

Sam held on for as long as he could, but the raging current was so strong that it was a mere thirty seconds before Sam's grip failed him and he went plunging into the water below.

He hit the surface hard. As Sam smashed into the now few feet of water, he could feel his broken ribs spear through his side, a scream ripping from his lips. Bubbles whipped past his face and Sam snapped his jaw shut to keep from losing any more precious oxygen.

The blurry world reeled and Sam lost any sense of direction as he was caught up in the vortex eddying at the bottom of the waterfall. There was nothing Sam could do to fight it. The current took him where it pleased and was none too kind to him along the way. He bashed into the ground repeatedly and was buffeted by the contents of the ballistics wing emptying from above. Battered and losing oxygen fast, Sam grappled onto the first thing his hands came into contact with. Once the world stopped spinning, it became apparent that Sam had grabbed onto one of the concrete pillars, was clawing onto it by his fingertips, his body billowing with the current like a flag caught on a high wind.

By now his lungs were burning. He needed to get to the surface.

So Sam started sidling upward, shuffling his hands up the ledge inch by agonizing inch, the water rising in a cruel game of cat and mouse as Sam sought the air above. The water had risen to six feet by the time he was able to break the surface. Sam gasped in a lungful of air, but the water surged over his head almost immediately. With a monumental effort, Sam climbed a few more inches and hauled himself forward as if he were doing a pull-up. His shoulder barked at him, but he leashed in the pain. He would soon drown if he couldn't pull in a proper breath. Straining against the current, Sam kept himself above the water, the roaring from the waterfall deafening a few yards away.

A faint noise caught Sam's attention and he did his best to locate its source, but he couldn't move his head around very much in his current situation. Then he heard the noise again, louder this time, coming from above him. It was the team, calling out to him. Sam swiveled his head around to look and just caught sight of their faces leaning over the wall above him before his grip slipped with the movement and he plunged back beneath the surface, only just managing to hold onto the pillar.

The pain that tore through his body was agonizing. Through sheer power of will, Sam pulled himself up again, the effort ripping at his shoulder and stabbing through his side.

Now that he was listening for it, Sam could make out a voice over the thunderous water.

"Grab my hand!" Ben called, somehow closer this time.

Carefully, Sam turned his head as much as he could and used his peripheral vision to see Ben hanging over the ledge, his arm reaching for Sam. By this time, the water had nearly reached the second level and Sam only had about a foot of pillar left above him to hold onto. Once the water rose above that level, Sam would either have to let go and allow the current to sweep him away or continue to hold on until he drowned. Neither option seemed a pleasant one.

There was shouting above, but Sam couldn't make out what they were saying. Then Hansen turned back to Sam. "You have to reach!"

Sam moved a bit closer to Hansen with the rising water, but his hand was still a good foot and a half away. There were only a few inches of pillar left.

There was nothing for it. It would have to be now.

Sam marshaled his strength.

"C'mon, Sam!"

Silently counting himself down, Sam heaved himself out of the water and lunged for Hansen's hand. For a moment, it looked as though Sam would make it. Then the current took hold of him once more. Sam's fingertips met Hansen's for the briefest moment before he was dragged under into the roiling darkness.

He crashed into a concrete wall, then coursed past it into what must have been one of the four main hallways leading off of the main shaft. It was utterly dark save for the faintest outline of an adjacent hallway up ahead. The sight gave Sam hope. All of the lights had been shorted out on the bottom level which meant that this light had to be coming from the level above. Sam just prayed that whatever hole the light squeezed through was large enough for him to do the same.

Judging the timing, Sam pushed off the opposite wall and sprung toward the second hallway. The current was so strong that it pinned his midriff to the far edge of the adjacent hall, but Sam worked himself forward until he was floating in the mostly still hallway. The current had almost completely dropped off once Sam was out of the main stream, the hallway he was currently occupying being perpendicular to the main thoroughfare.

The light he was seeking was a few feet further in. Sam stroked for it, quickly sizing up whether he could fit. It would be tight, but he figured he could make it, shedding his bulky parka before raising himself to the hole. Frankly, the extra layer was only weighing him down anyway. It wasn't as if it were providing any kind of warmth anymore. He earned a few rips and scrapes on the rebar, but Sam wriggled through the gap and burst to the surface to claim a much needed breath.

Of course, breathing was becoming more and more difficult. The cold was starting to get to Sam. He knew he couldn't stay in the water for much longer without it becoming dangerous.

_Get up_, he told himself. _Keep moving. Think._

Staggering to his feet, Sam tottered back to the main hallway and glanced up it to see if he could get back to the ramp.

He instantly knew he would never make it. He was at least a hundred feet away and with the water rising at the rate it was and Sam being as immobile as he was, he would end up being swept back down the hallway before he even made it halfway.

Sam took a second to find his bearings, form a plan.

Figuring out his relative position, a crazy idea formed in Sam's mind. He knew of at least one other exit to the complex—the shed that they had initially found. And it was bound to have some kind of staircase or elevator leading to it. By his calculation, Sam should be relatively close to such a thing if it continued straight downward from the shed.

Lowering himself into the water, Sam paddled down the hallway. The water was at least good for one thing. There was no way Sam would have been able to walk anywhere, but he was an excellent swimmer. He hated to submerge himself any more than necessary, but he needed to move quickly and hobbling just wouldn't cut it.

Sam cut across one hallway to the next. And the next. And the next. Glancing down each to check for some means of escape. His feet could no longer touch the floor when he finally glimpsed it, a glint of metal against the matte concrete in which it was set.

An elevator.

It was an easy trek to the door. Sam simply let the current take him where he needed to go. Once he was pressed up against the metal door, Sam pried it open, the sudden rush of water threatening to carry him through with it. But Sam held on until the water leveled out and swung into the elevator shaft. He scanned above him and found the way to be clear. The car was below him on the first level. It was a good thing too because had it been above him, he didn't know if there would have been room to squeeze by.

Now Sam just had to wait. He knew he couldn't climb the cables in his condition. He would have to ride the water to the top. Granted, this was easier said than done. The water was churning and frothing as pockets of air bubbled to the surface. And as the seconds ticked by, the icy cold water sapped Sam's strength. His movements were becoming jerky, exaggerated, his fine motor skills evaporating. It only took a few minutes for the water to reach the top floor, but by that time, Sam was finding it difficult just to tread water, an action so familiar to him as a Navy SEAL that he could have done it in his sleep.

He jammed his numb fingers into the crack between the elevator doors and started wedging them apart, fire flaring up in his ribs and shoulder. Once they had separated a few inches, he pressed his foot to one door and grabbed the other with both hands to give himself more leverage, switching from his hands to his back once the doors were open wide enough and leg-pressed them open the rest of the way.

Immediately, Sam was swept into the tiny room and he oriented himself just in time to save himself from crashing face first into the door on the opposite wall. The door had a mechanical lock; a large steel wheel connected to thick bars that bolted into the wall. It reminded Sam of the doors found inside submarines.

He breathed a quick sigh of relief at seeing the lock mechanism as another fear of his came to naught. Had the lock been electronic or biometric instead, there would have been no way for him to open it. His relief was short-lived, however, as he pulled on the wheel and it didn't budge. Not even an inch.

The water was rising incredibly fast in such a small space, the room being no more than fifteen feet square. It was already over his head as he held himself at the door. Sam had seconds before the room would be completely filled.

Even so, Sam was too well-seasoned for panic. Certain death was something Sam had come to grips with long ago. He knew his time would come and it would most likely be out on some mission. But he also knew that panic would only hasten it.

So he calmed his heartbeat, still racing from the adrenaline, and shoved himself to the surface. He emptied and filled his lungs as many times as he could in the last few seconds of air left to him. Then the roiling water reached the ceiling, the sole light overhead winked out, and all went utterly black and silent.

Sam felt his way back to the door and wasted no time putting everything he had into turning the lock. He knew the pressure built up by the water inside the shed was holding the bolts in place. The door hadn't been made to function against such differences in pressure. Nonetheless, he bade his lifeless fingers to grip the cold steel, bit back the pain tearing at his body.

Blood pounded in Sam's ears at the exertion.

It was now or never. He couldn't hold his breath for much longer in water like this.

Grunting silently, he torqued his body to the side and blessedly felt the slightest amount of give in the wheel. He kept at it and the lock gave way all at once with a dull _thud_, the door blasting open from the pent up pressure. Sam swung out with it, his hands ripping free of the steel wheel where they had frozen to it. The small river carried him out into the night, depositing him on the pristine snow twenty yards from the shed.

He had made it.

He rolled himself out of the water and just lay there for a moment, catching his breath.

And yet Sam knew his ordeal was far from over. The night was clear and frigid. Soaked and freezing as Sam already was, the cold was ambitious, the steady breeze immediately seeping through to his very bones. He may very well have survived drowning only to die of exposure.

The cold constricted his lungs, seized his body. He could barely breathe, barely move.

Some survival instinct barked at Sam to keep moving, to seek shelter. So he heaved himself onto his chest and, at an agonizing crawl, Sam hauled himself inch by inch through the snow. He eventually made his way to the leeward side of the shed, his journey illuminated by the single flickering lamp overlooking the door, water gurgling out of the shed through the snow next to him all the while.

Once Sam reached the shed, he nestled himself against it, crossing his arms, pulling his knees up to his chest, and ducking his head to hopefully retain whatever warmth was left in his breath in the small pocket of air he had created.

There was nothing left that he could do except wait. They had parked the car a few miles away and trekked in on foot. He had barely made it the short distance back to the shed, there was no way he could manage the distance to the car. And there was certainly nowhere else for him to go. His cheap phone was waterlogged and useless so there was no calling for help either. He would just have to hope that Hansen and his team bothered to come looking for him. And that he lasted long enough for them to find more than a frozen corpse.

Sam knew he was in a bad way, knew his body was failing. It had been since he had first hit the water, but he hadn't let himself recognize that fact until now.

There was no denying it any longer.

The ice outside his body was quenching the swelling fire within. And that numbness scared him much more than the pain. Pain he could deal with. Pain meant he was alive. It meant he was still fighting. But the pain ebbed away much like Sam's grasp on lucidity.

Soon enough, he couldn't feel anything at all. Not even the cold. Time stretched into an incomprehensible blur as Sam thinly clung to consciousness, knowing if he slipped under that he wouldn't wake up. But, like trying to hold onto an idea in the moments before sleep, all conscious thought kept slipping away.

His mind and body fading, Sam persisted. Sam endured. But deep down Sam knew the facts.

There was little chance he would survive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The C4 explosion rattled through Ben, almost sent him tumbling. Recovering quickly, he heard Valentina call out from behind him.

"What the hell was that?"

Noboru, standing next to her, answered quickly. "Sounded like C4."

Gillespie met Ben's eyes and then turned to both Noboru and Valentina in turn, panic tinting her voice. "They're trying to bring this place down on us!"

Even as she said it, Ben thought, _They're going to need a hell of a lot more than that if that's their plan_, though he couldn't help but glance upward as if chunks of concrete might start falling from above.

Then, out of nowhere, Sam was moving, shouting and waving his arms as he came barreling toward Ben. His injured leg snapped out at a painful angle and Sam went down, but not before he managed to shove into Ben. Stumbling backward, Ben only just recovered in time to watch a veritable wall of water crash through the ballistics door and plow its way over the ramp.

Sam was nowhere to be seen.

"Sam!"

Nothing.

"Sam!"

For a split second, Ben thought he glimpsed him, but whatever he saw was gone before his eyes could fully focus on it. With the rest of his team, Ben hurried over to the edge of walkway and peered over the low wall, figuring Sam had to have been caught up in the current. They scanned every inch of the darkened floor below, the water rising at an alarming rate.

"Anybody see him?" Ben shouted over the din of the rushing water. No one bothered answering. Ben knew they would have said something if they had.

As he searched desperately for any sign of Sam, Ben's mind was reeling. He couldn't believe it. So that's what Zahm's men had been up to. When they couldn't beat them in a firefight, they switched to Plan B—plant some C4 and let the lake drown the Splinter Cells instead. Well Ben wasn't going to let that happen. And he wasn't leaving without Sam either. He wasn't going to let Ames and Zahm win.

"There!" Gillespie screamed, yanking Ben back to reality.

He followed her pointed finger and saw the top of Sam's head next to one of the pillars below. Ben called out to him, but Sam went under again. Following Gillespie, who was already darting over there, Ben rushed around the ramp until he was directly above Sam, Noboru and Valentina quickly joining by his side. They all shouted variously at Sam, who seemed to take notice and turned toward them. As soon as Ben could see Sam's eyes, Sam slipped under the water once more.

They had to get him out of the water. He wasn't going to last much longer down there. Without thinking too much about it, Ben hoisted himself over the wall, ordering the others to grab onto him. Head first, he dove toward Sam, the others holding him by the ankles as he sort of rappelled down the concrete wall.

It was pure bad luck that Sam had ended up where he was. He was underneath the section of the walkway that just started to ramp up to the third floor, adding a few extra feet to the distance Ben had to cover to reach him.

Sam reappeared above the water and Ben quickly hailed him. "Grab my hand!" He stretched as far as he could go, but there was at least a foot between them still. Slowly, Sam turned his head toward Ben. Even from what little he could see of Sam's face, Ben could tell he was in agony. And the fact that it was even showing there spoke volumes about what Sam must have truly been feeling. If he was in that state, then there was no way Sam was going to be able to get up to Ben.

Ben folded in on himself to look back toward his team. "I need more! I'm not close enough!" He motioned at them to let him down further in case they couldn't hear him.

The reply was faint at this distance, but Ben could just make out Noboru shouting, "None of us are getting any taller, man. There's nothing left!" Though, as they said it, Ben could feel them stretching out, netting him a few more inches. It would just have to do.

It was all up to Sam now.

Ben dropped himself down to his full extent, meeting Sam's gaze at the same time. "You have to reach!"

There was no time left. The water was already lapping at the bottom of the second floor.

"C'mon, Sam!" Ben cried urgently, even though Sam knew perfectly well the situation at hand. Then Ben could see Sam gathering himself and Ben, for his part, readied himself to grab onto Sam.

Sam lunged out of the water toward Ben, anguish contorting his face as his hand splashed toward Ben's own. It all happened so fast, yet it felt to Ben like time were moving in slow motion. Sam's hand moved closer and closer and closer. It was right there, right at the edge of Ben's grasp. But it was snatched away before their fingers could fully meet.

And then Sam was gone.

In a jerk reaction, Ben had lurched forward to try to seize Sam's hand. His stomach churned when he felt the hands holding him slip from his ankle and he pitched forward. At the last moment, he felt the pressure around one of his ankles return, jolting him to a stop. His resulting collision with the wall left him momentarily stunned, but he quickly recovered and glanced back down at the dark water beneath him.

"Sam!" He swept his eyes around frantically. "SAM!"

Unbidden, the others had already started pulling him back up. When he was back on solid ground, Ben swore angrily. He still couldn't fully wrap his head around what was happening. Sam couldn't die. Not like this.

"We have to go. Come on, Ben!" Valentina hooked Ben's arm and motioned up the ramp, the other two a few steps ahead of them.

Ben hesitated, feeling as if leaving meant they were giving up on Sam.

"We have to go now, or we're all going to drown!"

True enough, the water was cresting over the second level, the noise level dropping drastically as the water merely poured into the rising pool rather than falling down the shaft.

"Ben, we've got to move!" Noboru called from the ramp leading upward.

Snapping himself out of it, Ben focused in on the task at hand. Sam, if he was still alive, would have to fend for himself now. There was nothing else they could do for him. Right now, they themselves needed to get out.

He looked up at the others and gave a terse nod. "Right. Let's go." With a stolen glance backward, Ben followed his team as they ran up the remaining levels back to where they had entered the facility. It was going to be a close thing. It seemed as though the water were rising more quickly the higher they climbed. He supposed the immense pressure could have widened the initial hole in the building, letting the water in faster and faster. As it was, they made it to the rope leading up through the vent where they had gained entry just as the water was reaching the top level.

They climbed one right after the other, only giving an arm's length head start before the next person latched on. Ben, going last, had the water snapping at his heels as he made his ascent. When his hands met fresh air, the others grabbed him and pulled him the rest of the way out, but not before the water brushed up to his calves.

It felt like an icy hand had reached out and slashed at him, it was so cold. He shouldn't have been surprised by it, but then he hadn't had much time to really think about it.

All four of them, now topside, backed hastily away from the opening as water came bubbling forth.

Gillespie, Valentina, and Noboru were all panting, staring at the vent like they couldn't believe what had just happened. Ben couldn't help but think of Sam. That water had been so cold, it had been painful just at a touch. And Sam had been _in_ it. For who knew how long.

_Could he have survived?_ Ben found himself wondering.

It seemed highly unlikely, but then, highly unlikely was Sam's forte. In fact, once Ben started thinking about it, the more he believed that Sam could have gotten out. There were undoubtedly multiple entrances into the complex. Ben tried to put himself in Sam's shoes. If he had been in that situation, what would he have done? The only other entrance they knew about for sure was the shed.

At the thought, Ben's eyes snapped up. In his mind he pictured the structure below him and oriented himself toward the shed. His heart skipped a beat when he realized that it was in the general direction of the corridor Sam had been sucked into. It may have been a long shot, but it was all they had. And Ben couldn't live with himself if he didn't at least check.

He flicked on his night vison goggles and began jogging in the direction of the shed. "Come on!" he bade the other three.

"Where are you going?" Gillespie called after him.

Ben stopped for a moment and looked back over his shoulder. "I think Sam could have made it out." He turned back toward the empty night. "And I think I know where to look."

* * *

It took them ten minutes at a brisk pace to reach the shed, the single lamp lighting the structure betraying its position at the edge of their vision.

"The door…" Gillespie started excitedly.

"I see it," Ben answered before she could finish her thought.

The door to the shed hung open, a stream spilling from its mouth. But there was no sign of Sam.

Ben doubled his pace, leaving the others chasing after him. He rounded the back side of the shed to the far side, and there, huddled up to the wall, was Sam, curled into himself. There was a layer of frost coating his hair and clothes and Ben thought he must surely be dead. His heart pounding, Ben drew closer. As he did so, the violent tremors racking Sam's body became all too evident.

He was alive.

By this time, the other three had come around the corner as well. Ben could feel their surprise as they spotted Sam and then their questioning gazes directed at himself. Squatting down, Ben put two fingers to Sam's ice-cold neck. He shot a glance toward the others. "His pulse is slow, but he's alive."

Noboru scoffed in disbelief.

Now it was a race against the clock. By the looks of him, Sam was severely hypothermic and he would only get worse the longer he was out in the open. They had to get him back to the car, they had to raise his temperature before his organs started failing. Assuming they hadn't already.

A sense of purpose gripping him, Ben shot to his feet and rounded on the others. "Valentina, Noboru, go and get the car, warm it up. We'll follow in your tracks."

Both gave an understanding nod and trotted off. Ben then returned his attention to Sam, kneeling down in front of him.

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?" Ben gave him a slight shake, speaking a little more loudly this time. "Sam?"

Ever so slowly, Sam's head lifted, enough that Ben could see the slightest wisps of breath spurting from Sam's mouth in time with the shivering that had consumed his body. One eye pried open a fraction, the other frozen shut, and Sam drowsily met Ben's gaze, some kernel of strength left within Sam still clinging to the scarcest thread of consciousness. Sam's eyes were rolling, his head drooping. He moved his chapped lips as if to speak, but nothing came out except for the irregular tufts of air.

Relieved, yet still worried, Ben tried to sound reassuring. "We're getting you out of here, Sam. But you need to get up. We have to get you moving, get you warm."

Ben didn't know how long it would take for his compatriots to retrieve the car and Sam was likely to freeze to death before then. If they could just get him moving a little, get his blood pumping, then they may be able to stave off the cold a little longer. It was risky, considering Sam's weakened state, but it was better than nothing.

Stripping off his gloves and coat, Ben motioned Gillespie over. "Help me get these on him." Together, they carefully unfurled Sam's arms and garbed him in the warm jacket. With the gloves, they didn't even bother putting Sam's fingers in them. They couldn't have even if they wanted to. Instead, they just shoved the gloves down over his clenched fists, then hoisted him up with his arms over their shoulders. A pained gasp tumbled from Sam's mouth at the movement, but he was too far gone to put up much of a struggle. He hung limply between them, his head lolling. Yet when they started moving, Sam's feet pulled forward along with them, uncoordinated as they were.

It was slow-going as they followed the footprints the other pair had left in the snow. After a quarter mile, Sam wasn't faring very well. Draped between them, he sagged closer and closer to the ground the further they went. His right leg had stopped moving entirely a while back and his left leg dragged a foot forward at a time before it fell limp and was left behind. Eventually they were forced to stop and readjust, Sam had become so cumbersome between them.

This wasn't going to work.

Cursing inwardly, Ben let out a growl. "Screw it." Gesturing to Gillespie to let Sam down, Ben bent down underneath Sam and lifted him onto his shoulders. It was like carrying a bag of ice, he was so cold. Ben could only hope that some of his own warmth was seeping back into Sam.

Even so laden, they easily tripled their pace, Ben managing a sort of flat-footed jog. It wasn't too long before they could hear the car approaching. A dark mass in their night vision goggles following shortly thereafter. The headlights weren't on, the occupants opting for their night vision rather than give away their position. They were still potentially in enemy territory after all.

Ben halted, sides heaving, a chill creeping across his sweaty torso as Gillespie waved the car down. At this point, even Ben's teeth were starting to chatter and his hands were numb. He could only imagine how cold Sam must be, drenched as he was by water that had already been dangerously cold.

Once the large SUV they had driven up from Irkutsk skidded to a halt beside them, Ben and Gillespie wasted no time jogging around to the back and opening up the back hatch, a blast of hot air rushing out as they did so. The inside was empty save for a few duffle bags stacked against the sides. The seats had been stripped out.

Noboru called back to them from the passenger seat. "We dumped the seats. Figured they would only be in the way."

Ben merely gave a quick nod of acknowledgement, though he was thankful for their foresight. And he couldn't help but produce a mental image of two pairs of bench seats abandoned in the middle of the Russian tundra, lost and forgotten.

Heaving himself back to the present, Ben placed Sam carefully onto the floor of the SUV then climbed in himself to haul Sam the rest of the way in. Gillespie followed behind them and slammed the door shut once they were all inside. It was a tight fit, but they were just able to lay Sam out with his head right behind the front row of seats.

He had definitely deteriorated since they had found him. Sam was unresponsive now, his eyes fully rolled back into his head, his shivering seeming even worse than it had been somehow.

Ben looked up at Valentina, who was looking questioningly at him from the driver's seat. "Get us back to Irkutsk."

"Do you think he'll make it?" Valentina asked concernedly.

"I think he's got a chance now that we've got him someplace warm," Ben answered, struggling to add some levity into his tone. "But I still want to get him to a doctor as soon as we can. He's in pretty bad shape." He truly believed that too, Ben wasn't just saying it to calm the others. As long as they could get Sam warmed up, he might just make it.

Nodding in confirmation, Valentina spun back around and stepped on the gas. She was the best driver of them all, Ben knew. If anyone could get them back to Irkutsk quickly, it would be her.

Steadying himself after the sudden acceleration, Ben turned to Gillespie who had situated herself on the other side of Sam across from Ben. "We need to get these wet clothes off of him." Without a word, Gillespie started about the task while Ben rummaged in their duffle bags for some extra clothes. He was just pulling out some sweats and a hoodie when Gillespie spoke behind him.

"Shit."

The dread in her voice had Ben spinning around instantly. She was staring down at Sam's bare torso. Following her gaze, Ben quickly found the source of her fear. Spilling down Sam's left side was a nasty bruise, worse than the one that had been there before. Much worse. Ben's stomach leapt into his throat. He had seen bruises like that before and it could only mean one thing.

Ben's and Gillespie's eyes met over Sam and Ben could see the fear and defeat playing across her face.

"He won't make it to Irkutsk," she said flatly.

It wasn't a question. Ben knew as well as she did that Sam didn't have much time.

Noboru spun around at the change in their tones. "What is it? What's going on?"

Ben pulled his gaze from Gillespie and heaved a frustrated sigh before lifting his eyes to Noboru. "Sam's bleeding internally."

This was bad. It was five hours back to Irkutsk. From the look of that bruise, Sam would be lucky if he lasted one. In fact, it was likely the only reason he had lasted this long was because he had been freezing out in the snow. His slower heart rate had kept him from bleeding out. And the very thing they had done in warming him up now meant his blood was only pumping out even faster.

What was supposed to be saving him was killing him instead.

Valentina craned her head around, her voice agitated. "What? How?"

"I don't know. He wasn't like that when you patched him up earlier," Ben replied, nodding to Gillespie. She shook her head in affirmation. "It must have happened when he was in the water. Who knows what the hell happened down there. It couldn't have been easy getting out."

"So what do we do?"

Ben didn't have any immediate answer. It seemed like an impossible situation. And then something inside him clicked.

There was only one person besides Sam who was capable of getting out of an impossible situation.

Diving into his pockets, Ben pulled out his phone and started typing, punching in a number as the recipient that Sam had made him memorize.

He could feel all of his comrades' eyes on him, but it was Gillespie who finally spoke up.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Ben didn't bother looking up. "Throwing out a Hail Mary." He finished his text and pressed _Send_, only then looking up at the others. "And praying to God that Grim catches it."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Before they had entered that abandoned complex, before they had confronted Ames even, Sam had come to Ben with a phone number. A number he was to use only in the utmost emergency. As Sam had explained, the number was to Grim's personal cell phone. She and Sam had worked out a code ever since he had been on the run just in case he needed to get in contact in a hurry. He would send her an innocuous text posing as her landlord containing a certain code word pertaining to the level of the emergency. The word "fire" corresponded to the highest level of emergency and meant that Grim needed to contact him immediately at the number he had sent the text from.

Just a moment ago, Ben had sent her a text reading: **The fire marshal is coming out tomorrow to inspect the apartments between 2 and 5 PM. **

Every second since had felt like an eternity while he waited for her reply. As they waited, Ben and Gillespie continued to strip Sam out of his sodden clothes and pull on the spare set Ben had found. Halfway through their task, Ben's phone rang. It had barely chimed before Ben was answering it, Grim's voice ringing out from the other end.

She sounded out of breath, like she had just run from wherever she was to someplace secluded enough to call. "Sam, what's going on? What's happened?"

"Grim, it's Ben," he cut in quickly.

"Ben—?"

Ben hardly even let her finish his name, instead ploughing on with his explanation. "Listen, things went south with the arsenal. Ames tipped them off and they knew we were coming. We all got out, but Sam's hurt. Bad. We're hours from Irkutsk and he won't make it that far. You've got to give me something, Grim. Anything. Hell, I'll take some backwoods vet if they've got some sort of medical facility."

Grim didn't miss a beat. All she said was, "Let me make some calls." Then the line went dead.

Not quite reassured, Ben returned his focus to the others, all of whom were waiting expectantly.

It was Gillespie who spoke again. "Well?"

"I don't know yet. She's working on something."

Willing himself to calm down, Ben motioned toward Sam so that he and Gillespie could finish their work on him. Gillespie had finished clothing him while Ben had been talking to Grim. She had even thrown several blankets over Sam. But they still had to address his hands and feet. They peeled off the gloves, his hands so frozen stiff they were barely able to unfurl them. When they did, it wasn't a pretty sight. There was definitely some frostbite settling in, but Ben hoped that they had caught it early enough that he would regain use of his fingers.

Watching the proceedings from up front, Noboru chimed in as they revealed Sam's frostbitten hands. "Here, use these." He tossed a few hand warmers over the seat to Ben. "Found them in the glove box. They're probably ten years old, but they might have a little heat left in them."

Ben took one and opened it, shaking it to activate the heat. It didn't warm up very much, but that actually suited the purpose even better. Warming Sam's hands up too fast would be just as bad as leaving them to freeze. He glanced up to Noboru. "Thanks, these are perfect." To dilute the effect even further and keep from burning Sam's skin, they slid a pair of gloves on over his hands first, then the warmer, then another pair of gloves to keep it in place. They did the same with his feet and a few pairs of socks. His feet looked even worse than his hands, but there was nothing more they could do for Sam right now.

Just as they were pulling on the last sock, Ben's phone rang again and he hurried to answer it.

"Grim, please tell me you have something."

Grim's voice was stern. "Listen to me carefully. There's a top secret Russian military base nearby."

"What?" Ben couldn't believe it.

"Even I don't know its exact location, but I know it's within range. Even better, I know its commanding officer. More importantly, he owes me a favor. And Sam an even bigger one. He's agreed to help in exchange for a favor on my part. He's sending a chopper to come get you. I'm sending you some coordinates. They'll meet you there in twenty minutes."

When Grim came through, she really came through, Ben mused. "Thanks, Grim."

But she wasn't done. "Listen to me, Ben. They've agreed to help, but that doesn't make them our allies. If you want to live through this, you do whatever they tell you, do you hear me? If they even think you're going to be a problem, we'll never find your bodies."

"We won't cause any trouble, Grim, I promise."

Grim paused for a moment. "Be careful, all of you."

"We will," Ben assured her before hanging up and handing the phone to Valentina so she could take them to the coordinates that were coming through. Ben quickly explained to them what was going on.

"Step on it, Maya. We need to be there in twenty minutes."

A glint of cheek lit up her eyes. "That won't be a problem."

A hushed still spread inside the car as they rushed toward Sam's salvation. It was broken only by Sam's incessant shivering and the erratic breath that accompanied it. Though, as the minutes ticked by, Ben could have sworn that Sam's shivering was lessening, and, contrary to what would seem to be the case, the fact only sent a twinge of dread churning in Ben's stomach. Maybe fifteen minutes into their drive, Sam's shivering suddenly ceased entirely. The still that took over his body only meant that they could now see how shallow and labored Sam's breathing was. Ben was instantly checking Sam's vitals, panic welling up within him.

"What's wrong?" Noboru asked at the commotion.

"He stopped shivering," Ben answered as he placed two fingers on Sam's neck.

Gillespie seemed confused at Ben's concern. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

Ben couldn't exactly explain what had him so worried, but it just didn't seem right. "No. There's no way he should have warmed up that quickly." Sam's pulse was weak, thready. Ben raised Sam's eyelid and shone the light from his phone into his eye. The pupils didn't respond. "Shit. Shit!" Ben sat back and addressed the others, a bit frantic now. "Sam's in shock." He could see the worry descend over all of their faces. Ben turned to Valentina. "What's our ETA?"

"A couple minutes."

Silently stowing the information, Ben returned his gaze to Sam. They were so close. Sam just had to last a few more minutes. A man could only take so much. And Sam had taken more than his fair share. But if he could just hold on for a little while longer, then it wouldn't all have been for nothing.

Without realizing he was doing it, Ben started chanting at Sam for him to hold on.

Ben and Gillespie were now watching Sam with bated breath, Noboru scanning the skies ahead of them for any sign of a chopper. Ben was just beginning to believe that Sam would make it when his chest stopped moving, full silence now suffusing the SUV. Immediately springing into action, Ben thrust his fingers against Sam's neck, checking for any sign of life.

He felt nothing.

Ben couldn't believe this was happening. Maybe it was because his original mission was to bring Sam back alive or maybe it was because working with Sam over the last couple of days had made him feel like a part of the team, but Ben felt a sense of responsibility toward Sam. And Ben couldn't help but admit he had always harbored a feeling of admiration for the man. He couldn't let him die. Not like this. Not if he could help it.

"No, no, no, come on, Sam!" In an instant, Ben had interlaced his fingers and started doing CPR, gesturing Gillespie toward Sam's head. "Breathe on my count," he ordered. Gillespie nodded and positioned herself to be ready when Ben gave the signal. Crunching through Sam's sternum, Ben counted to fifteen, then called out to Gillespie, "Breathe!" She blew two short breaths into Sam's lungs then hung back, waiting for Ben to begin again.

A few cycles of this went by, Ben's heart pounding out of his chest, when Noboru cried out, pointing out the front windshield. "There! I see them!" They had been traveling higher and higher into the mountains and had just emerged from the tree line, an empty expanse of snow and ice spread before them.

Ben couldn't spare a second to look, but he didn't have to. Soon enough he could hear the helicopter approaching, the rhythmic thumping of its blades giving away its presence. "They better have a goddamn AED on that thing!" Ben shouted to no one in particular.

A full minute had gone by when the fairly large cargo helicopter finally landed and Valentina came to a screeching halt several yards away. Noboru burst from the SUV before it had even stopped moving and went sprinting toward the chopper as fast as the icy footing would allow.

Sneaking a glance at Noboru's progress, Ben saw the chopper door slide open and four men with assault rifles jump out, aiming their weapons straight at Noboru. Noboru went down on his knees, hands held placatingly in the air. The men were shouting, though Ben couldn't hear anything over the noise of the helicopter and the ice and wind it sent flying into the car. Clearly Noboru was trying to plead his case, gesturing as he was toward the vehicle. Whether he got his point across or not, Ben didn't know, but a second later three more men appeared from the helicopter. One carried a portable gurney, the second two large boxes with handles, and the third something that looked like, and Ben sincerely hoped, was an AED.

Three of the armed men peeled off with them, the last remaining standing over Noboru. When they swung open the back hatch, the guards pointed their guns at Ben, Gillespie, and Valentina, yelling at them in Russian. Ben spoke Russian well enough, but even if he hadn't, the message was clear. Somewhat grudgingly, Ben stopped doing CPR and cleared the way for the doctors, joining his female counterparts a few feet from the car. The guards ordered them to kneel with their hands over their heads and they all readily complied.

Through the snow whipping at his face, Ben could just make out what was happening inside the vehicle and he was quite happy to see that the doctors wasted no time in tending to Sam. They had the contact points of the AED on Sam in a few seconds and then Ben saw Sam lurch with the electric shock it imparted. They gave no reaction and then Sam lurched again. This time, the doctors poured over Sam. Under the flurry of bodies and limbs looming over Sam, Ben could just make out his chest weakly rising and falling.

Sam was back.

Less than a minute later, he was strapped to the gurney, an IV trailing from each arm. One led up to a blood bag, the other to some saline solution.

The guards had herded Noboru over to the rest of them by this point, all four of them kneeling next to the SUV, squinting against the snow buffeting them. As the doctors carried Sam toward the chopper, two of the guards followed behind them, leaving two facing Ben and his team. Maybe it was the sense of relief flooding his system, but Ben found it amusing that they had sent two guards with Sam and left two for the rest of them.

_Yep, that seems about right_, he thought to himself with a hint of a chuckle.

It wasn't until the helicopter was well out of range that one of the guards deigned to address them in broken English. He lowered his weapon and reached into a pouch at his hip, pulling out four sets of handcuffs and tossing them into the snow in front of the team. "Put on. Get in car." He raised his weapon once more and motioned with it toward the SUV.

Ben gave a subtle nod to the others and they all did as they were told. They handcuffed themselves and climbed into the back of the SUV, two on either side. Once there, the same guard produced four syringes full of some kind of drug and held them out. He didn't need to say anything for them to know what he wanted.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Valentina hissed toward Ben.

The guard shoved his hand closer to them. "Ten seconds," he warned. "Or you stay."

_Or you stay here to freeze to death_, Ben completed in his head. He grabbed one of the syringes with his restrained hands and met the eyes of the others. "Just do it," he said firmly.

The other three all grabbed a syringe, Valentina doing nothing to hide her displeasure. They all looked to him again for his affirmation.

He nodded.

Gillespie was the first to plunge the needle into her leg, followed closely by Noboru. In a few seconds, their eyes rolled and they both fell unconscious, their heads sagging forward. Ben could see Valentina grinding her teeth, but she too stabbed herself and dropped off. Satisfied that she could no longer cause any trouble, Ben sunk the needle into his thigh and depressed the plunger. Instantly, his limbs grew heavy and his eyes drooped and for just a split second before he lost consciousness, a twinge of doubt grew in Ben's mind as he imagined them being strung up by their ankles in some dungeon, never to see the light of day again. But then darkness overtook Ben's senses and all fear was lost to that empty void.

* * *

Ben awoke to the blinding brightness and low hum of fluorescent lighting. Blinking the grogginess from his eyes, he sat up on the cot he found himself lying on and peered around the room. He was in a long, narrow room with four cots lining one wall, a trunk at the foot of each and a small table up near each head. Noboru was sitting on the cot next to him, already awake. Valentina and Gillespie occupied the cots further down, both of them still unconscious. Neither one of them stirred.

"Are they alright?" Ben asked Noboru.

"As far as I can tell. They gave us all the same dosage so it's probably going to take a little longer to wear off on them," Noboru explained sagely.

"Well, we're not in a dungeon," Ben observed dryly.

Noboru huffed, smiling as if he had had the exact same thought. "Thank God."

"Do you remember anything about getting here?"

Noboru shook his head. "Nope. I only woke a few minutes before you did. You know as much as I do."

Curious to glean as much information as he could, Ben arose and walked the room. He had occupied the cot closest to the door. A door which had no window and was locked from the outside. Not a dungeon, but still a prison. Still, things could certainly have been worse. On the back wall was a small bathroom complete with a shower. Someone had even been so kind as to place a few bars of soap and four folded towels in there.

When Ben came back out, Noboru was going through all the trunks and the drawer on each nightstand.

"Anything?"

Closing what seemed to be the last drawer he had checked, Noboru swiveled to face Ben. "Nothing. They confiscated everything we had. No phones, no weapons. They left us nothing but the clothes we're wearing."

Ben sank back onto his cot. "Well that's hardly surprising. But at least it seems like we won't be treated like animals while we're here."

Noboru leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "And how long do you think that will be?"

Ben sighed. "I really don't know."

It took another fifteen minutes for the drugs to wear off on the two women and Ben and Noboru filled them in on all they had found. All four of them were naturally disconcerted by the situation they found themselves in, but they all agreed to wait a while longer to see what happened before formulating any sort of plan. Besides, they didn't have enough information on their own predicament to even attempt to form a plan.

Time seemed to drag on forever in that room, doused as it always was in that overhead lighting. There were no windows and no clocks or anything to tell the time. They were all becoming restless cooped up in that room. Especially since they had no clue what was going on with Sam or what their own fate was to be.

It was quite a while later before they saw any sign that someone remembered they were in there. Judging by how hungry he was, Ben guessed it to be maybe twelve hours since they had drugged themselves and maybe six hours since he had awoken. Thankfully, of the three men that opened the door, one was bearing a tray full of sandwiches, a few apples and oranges, and several bottles of water. Two armed men entered first and stood to either side of the door. The third came in and placed the tray on the ground.

Before he could leave, Ben tried to engage him in conversation, asking in Russian, "Where's our friend? Is he alright?" He purposefully didn't use Sam's name. He wanted to avoid giving any of their names to these people if at all possible. In the end, it didn't matter anyway. The men didn't even look at them let alone speak to them. They just left as they had entered and locked the door behind them.

Ben walked over to the tray of food and picked it up, turning back to the others. "At least it's something," he shrugged.

Once sated, they all settled back into their routine of restlessness. In turns they all did some version of the same thing—jumping jacks, crunches, or pushups to burn off some of that anxious energy followed by mindlessly staring at the ceiling from their respective cots.

It was several hours later again when they heard more people at the door. Two guards entered first as they had last time, but they were followed in by a clearly high ranking man who planted himself in front of them, his hands clasped behind his back.

Ben sat up from where he was laying on his cot, the others stopping whatever they were doing at the welcome intrusion.

The man spoke with a heavy Russian accent, but his English was very good. He seemed to key in on Ben and spoke to him more than the others. "Your friend is out of surgery. He is not well, but the doctors think he will live. You may all stay here until he is better though you will not leave this room unless escorted by my men. If you cause any problems, they will shoot you without hesitation." He had a stern bearing, but his words weren't spoken as a threat, merely a statement of intent.

Ben nodded in understanding. "Can we see him?" He had to confirm with his own eyes that Sam was alright. Plus he would take any opportunity to get out of that room.

The commander seemed to assess Ben for a moment before answering. "Yes. You may visit one at a time."

"Thank you…" Ben trailed off as he realized he didn't know what to call the man.

Picking up on Ben's hesitation, the commander held up a hand. "You do not need to know my name and I do not need to know yours. Let's just leave it at that." He paused a moment as if considering his next words. "I ran into your friend many years ago in a place neither one of us should have been. Though we were not direct enemies, neither were we friends. When circumstances forced us face to face, he should have killed me. I would have killed him had I been able," he admitted. "Yet he spared me when he had every reason not to." Another pause. "We will take care of your friend. But once he is able to be transferred, you will leave this place and never speak a word of it again," the commander announced, staring them down each in turn. Once he seemed satisfied, he turned to leave.

Ben spoke up before he made it to the door. "Thank you," he said gratefully.

The commander stopped and turned his head. "This debt has plagued me for many years now." He raised his eyes to meet Ben's. "I will be glad to be free of it."

The three of them then left without another word.

* * *

True to his word, the commander allowed them each to visit Sam in turn, though they were handcuffed and escorted by two men whenever they left the room. Though Ben had no intention of stirring up trouble, he wasn't going to waste an opportunity to gather as much intel as he could. As it turned out, however, the Russian base was adept enough at keeping its own secrets. There were no signs on any of the ubiquitous white walls and they never passed anyone in the halls. Either this base was partly abandoned, or they had specially outfitted this wing for the sole purpose of Sam's last minute visit. Ben guessed it more likely to be the latter. In fact, the only thing he had managed to deduce was that they were underground, simply from the nature of a secret base and the fact that he hadn't seen a single window anywhere.

Resigning himself to the mystery, Ben followed his escorts down yet another white hallway until they came to an unmarked door. They ushered him inside, not bothering to take off his handcuffs, and locked the door behind him.

Lying in a hospital bed across the room was Sam, the only other furnishing besides the machines Sam was hooked up to, a folding chair next to the bed. Sam looked terrible. His face was bruised and swollen and most of his body was covered in bandages, his right leg trussed up in a massive brace. But the vitals on the screen over his head seemed to be reading fine and Sam was breathing on his own, so Ben had some hope that he would pull through.

There was nothing left to do now but wait.

Ben alternated between sitting next to Sam and pacing the room. Hours passed in such fashion, but Sam never woke and eventually the guards came back for Ben. He passed the same empty halls on the way back and once he was back in the room, Gillespie took her turn in going to see Sam.

It wasn't strictly necessary for all of them to go, but Ben wanted them to so that they could each get out of that room for a while and so one of them might potentially glean something from their short trip that the others didn't.

The second part of Ben's plan didn't really work. None of them saw anyone or anything on their walk to Sam's room. There weren't even exit signs they collectively realized after they had all gone and the guards had brought them another meal in their room, so any chance of escape, should it come to that, would be virtually zero.

As much as they all hated it, they had no choice but to trust this commander and his men, not that they had done anything to mitigate that trust. It simply went against all Splinter Cell training to blindly trust in someone they knew nothing about. Though, Ben supposed, Grim seemed to trust this man well enough. Enough to send them all here, knowing what they were getting into, anyway.

Night (or what Ben assumed was night by the fact that they turned all the lights off) came and went and another meal was served after they awoke from an uneasy slumber. Noboru went first today, followed by Gillespie, then Valentina, and finally Ben.

Thus the routine began and stayed like that for several days.

Ben just hoped Sam would wake up soon. For Sam's own sake and for the sanity of Ben's team.

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

The sound of footsteps permeated Sam's consciousness before he was ever fully awake. He followed that sound outward and his other senses kicked in one by one. He felt warm and comfortable despite the heavy aches that limned nearly every inch of his body. The air smelled clean, but musty, a scent he had long associated with underground facilities that had to recycle breathable air. And on his tongue was the taste of salt, a byproduct of a saline drip, something Sam had unfortunately grown accustomed to. By the time Sam opened his eyes, he had a fairly good approximation of where he was. The one thing he didn't expect was to see that the footsteps belonged to Ben, who was pacing back and forth at the foot of Sam's hospital bed.

"Ben," Sam ground out, his voice gravelly from disuse.

Instantly, Ben stopped pacing and turned at the sound of Sam's voice. "Sam!" He strode over to the side of Sam's bed, his handcuffed hands hanging awkwardly down in front of him.

Sam cleared his throat, his voice coming out more normally now. "Where are we?" He didn't remember much past getting out of that shed.

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "Hell if I know. Some secret Russian base."

Sam had guessed as much. They wouldn't be underground in a normal hospital. And Ben certainly wouldn't be handcuffed. But if they were here, that meant…

"You contacted Grim."

Suddenly Ben's face paled a bit. "You didn't give me much of a choice."

"How bad was it?"

There was a moment of hesitation before Ben answered. And when he did, the truth of his statement was written all over his face. "Bad."

If Ben's tone wasn't enough to go by, the dull ache in the center of Sam's chest indicating a broken sternum certainly gave Sam a good idea of the extent of his injuries. In his line of work, a broken sternum only meant one thing. And it also proved what Ben and his team had done to see Sam through it.

"Did everyone make it out alright?"

Ben nodded. "Yeah. They're all here, in another room. They only let us out one at a time."

_Good. _Sam was glad they were all safe, though he could sense the anxiousness in Ben and could only guess that the others were suffering the same feeling.

"How did Grim know about this place anyway?"

"You mean you didn't know about this place?" Ben scoffed. "I thought you would have. Grim said the commander owed her a favor. And you an even bigger one."

Interesting. "Well if it's who I'm thinking of, then yeah, he did owe me a big favor indeed. But no, I didn't know about this place. Grim was always better at keeping tabs on old friends," Sam said with half a smirk.

Ben gave a feeble smile, but then his countenance grew serious and he leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice. "Look, Sam, what's the plan here? I mean, the mission was a complete failure."

Sam had wondered how long Ben was going to last before he couldn't hold it in any longer. Being cooped up without any plan to move forward or any means to execute such a plan was a frustration Sam knew all too well. He would have reacted the same way in his early days. But he quickly came to realize that no mission was a complete failure and even the tiniest bit of information was valuable intel.

Pushing himself up the bed, Sam grunted as his body protested. Still, he knew the pain should have been far worse. The wonders of morphine were also something Sam had become accustomed to.

"The mission wasn't a failure," Sam countered calmly.

"In what way?" Ben snorted. "Sure, some of the arsenal is drowned in some flooded abandoned complex in the middle of the Siberian tundra, but we're no closer to finding the rest of it than we were weeks ago when I didn't even know it existed!"

"But now we know who has it, who's running the whole auction."

"Alright fine," Ben admitted. "But he's just as far in the wind as the arsenal itself." He swung his bound hands out in emphasis. "He could be anywhere by now."

A smile crept onto Sam's face. "Yeah, but see I told Zahm I would be back if he didn't leave his criminal life behind him. I had to have some way of making good on that promise."

Ben tilted his head and squinted slightly in confusion, though Sam could see that he was catching on. "You mean…"

"I placed a tracker on his beloved yacht. A yacht that just so happens to be designed to smuggle a large amount of goods," Sam finished for Ben.

"Would he use it though? He has to know we're on to him."

"He has no reason to think that. Even if he assumes we made it out, without any reasonable proof that we know it's him, he's going to operate in the way that's most familiar to him. It'd be too much trouble to do otherwise and he's losing money every day he sits on the arsenal. The buyers will want him to reschedule as soon as possible."

"Then we need to get out of here and get eyes on that yacht."

"I agree. Though I don't think another auction will be scheduled for at least a couple weeks, maybe a month. It'd be too hot to move the entire arsenal out of here as one shipment. It'll take a week or more for him just to get it to his yacht, which is the only place he would feel comfortable moving it all together. Then gathering dozens of major crime lords and black arms dealers from around the world into one place will take some time as well. Not to mention the fact that they will have to find a new location."

Ben looked slightly mollified by Sam's logic, though he still said, "Either way, the sooner we leave this place, the better."

"I won't argue with you there," Sam agreed, wincing as his ribs twinged.

Ben must have taken that as a sign that Sam needed to rest because he walked to the door, announcing, "I'll go let the doctors and the others know you're awake." He knocked on the door as a signal to the guards, then rested against the door while he waited for them to respond. At Sam's confused look, he shrugged, explaining, "I'm not usually the one deciding when I leave." After a moment of silence, Ben let out a sigh, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in the first sign of weariness Sam had seen him show. "I'm just glad this is over," Ben admitted candidly.

The comment brought an ironic smile to Sam's face. "It's not over, Ben," Sam corrected, determination filling the gaze that Ben's eyes rose to meet. "It's only beginning."

**Epilogue**

A week after Sam woke up, he had been deemed well enough to be transported. It was mostly at Sam's insistence, but the commander had offered no protest. Sam had figured the sooner they parted ways, the better and he knew the commander felt the same. Very few parting words had been exchanged between Sam and his old acquaintance aside from Sam offering his thanks and both of them judging their score to be settled.

Then Sam and the other four Splinter Cells had left much as they had come—sedated and shipped away, all of them waking up in the back of their fueled up SUV in the middle of the Siberian tundra. The Russians had even given them some rations for their fairly short journey back to Irkutsk and a portable wheelchair for Sam to use once they made it back to civilization.

Sam had ground his teeth when he had sunk into that chair at the Irkutsk airport, hating that he couldn't use crutches or even push the chair himself on account of his shoulder. In the end, though, he had swallowed his pride and let Ben wheel him through the crowds. He was better off letting his wounds heal as much as possible before he was needed again. Like he had told Ben, it wouldn't be too long before Zahm tried to move the arsenal.

And, much as Sam had predicted, it was roughly a month later that Sam found himself flying over the Atlantic Ocean, several miles off of the Spanish coast. Using Sam's tracker, they had been keeping tabs on Zahm's yacht, monitoring its comings and goings. In the past few weeks, it had made a few small trips down along the coastline.

Sam and Grim determined the excursions to be Zahm gathering up the arsenal. He would have had to ship it in smaller batches through multiple ports to avoid suspicion. And all of the ports he had gone to had all had previous dealings in the black market. The yacht had gone dormant for a week and had just yesterday set out for open water. Zahm was making his move.

But Sam was ready for him.

He had stationed himself in Spain, working closely with the Spanish Coast Guard through Third Echelon (or what was left of it after Kovac's indictment). Their plan was to intercept the yacht in the guise of a routine random inspection and, while it was stopped, Sam would slip aboard and plant the nanobots on the arsenal as they had planned to do originally before Ames had screwed them over. Zahm would have planned for such an occasion with all the necessary forged documents, so he would hardly be suspicious. Once the bots were in place they would track the arsenal back to the roots of the hundreds of criminal organizations around the world where they could stop so much more than just one black market arms sale.

Grim had complained that the plan was too obvious. Sam had countered by saying its obviousness was what made it so perfect. A double bluff was the last thing Zahm would expect. Not that Zahm would be expecting to see them anyway, convinced as he would have been that the team had drowned in the trap he had laid and that Third Echelon believed the arsenal to have been lost along with them. Sam had been laying a careful trail of misinformation to suggest as much.

Now they just had to plant the nanobots without being seen, which was much easier said than done.

Sam had spent every waking hour over the last month rehabbing his body, pushing himself as hard as he could. His shoulder was mostly healed, though it still twinged a bit if he strained it too much. His ribs were still painful, but he mostly just ignored it. His leg, on the other hand, was still in rough shape. It took several surgeries to get Sam's knee back in working order and the doctors didn't even want Sam walking on it. Sam, of course, didn't heed their orders. He had found himself a top of the line, military grade knee brace that offered twice the support and maneuverability with half the weight and bulk and set about toning up his leg. The brace kept Sam's leg from giving out, but it did nothing for the pain, which still felt like hot pokers stabbing into his knee every time Sam took a step, but Sam pushed through it. He even refused to take any pain meds before coming out on this mission because he wanted his head as clear as possible.

This was a mission he would trust to no one else. He knew from the day he had woken up that he wouldn't be satisfied unless he saw this mission through himself. Though that didn't mean he had to do it alone.

Ben sat across from Sam on the other side of the helicopter, meticulously checking his weapons and equipment. Sam had seen him do it at least ten times already. Dealing with the nerves before a mission was something that Ben would learn in time. But Ben had earned his place next to Sam on this. Sam knew Ben wouldn't let him down.

With the two Splinter Cells stashed inside, the stealth helicopter kept a steady pace forward, using the low clouds and dark of night to conceal its presence. Sam couldn't see a thing through the windows, mired as they were in the dense fog, but he had complete faith in the pilots to guide them through the mist.

It wouldn't be long now.

Another ten minutes and the pilot was calling out to Sam and Ben through their headsets that they were in position, a few miles out from the yacht. They couldn't get too close and risk being spotted. The pair would drop into the ocean in full scuba gear and use special propulsion machines to take them the rest of the way to the yacht. They were even equipped with rebreathers to cut the amount of bubbles that would make it to the surface and potentially give themselves away.

All of their gear was fitted with anti-radar coating that made them virtually invisible to all but the most advanced radar equipment. Sam was all for experience and smarts over fancy technology, but he had to admit that working for Third Echelon had its benefits. Not that he was working with them in any sort of official capacity. After Kovac's ousting, the higher ups had basically agreed to look the other way while Sam saw out this mission. They all knew it would take too long to clear all the red tape that had amassed over the past year and they couldn't afford to lose the arsenal again. Grim was the "official" head of the mission as far as Third Echelon was concerned and Sam's go-to on the inside.

Besides, Sam wasn't so sure he could bring himself to sign back up just yet. There was still too much that didn't add up within Third Echelon. Sam very much doubted it began and ended with Kovac and until he could get to the bottom of the corruption, he didn't want to be tied down with bureaucracy. He was better off in the wind. Better off on the outside where he could work freely.

But Sam would worry about that later. Right now, he had a job to do.

"In position," a tinny voice called through Sam's headset.

Looking over, Sam nodded at Ben, who nodded back. They stood, strapped on their gear, and headed to the hatch door. As Sam reached for the handle, Ben shouted out to him over the noise of the helicopter.

"You sure you're up for this?" He looked pointedly at Sam's leg.

"I'll be fine," Sam answered tersely. "Remember," he added, "not a trace left behind. If you even think they're onto us, you signal me and we take them all down. We're better off taking the arsenal here and now than risking them losing us because they caught our scent. You hear me?"

Ben tilted his head. "I hear you."

"Good. Then let's go. And it's radio silence from here on out unless something goes wrong. I don't want to risk them catching a stray frequency."

With another nod from Ben, Sam slid open the door to the cold, blustering air whipping off of the rotors. The surface of the water was relatively calm except for the wash from the helicopter, the pilot keeping them hovering a few yards above it. At a signal from Sam, they both tossed their propulsion devices into the water and with a final glance at each other, they both leapt in after them.

The water was ice cold, but their wetsuits shielded them from the brunt of it, only a mild chill permeating the thick layer. It was a far cry from the situation Sam had found himself in at the bottom of that abandoned complex a month ago.

Maybe fancy technology wasn't so bad after all.

Sam and Ben stroked over to their respective devices and set a course for Zahm's yacht. The trip was uneventful, though Sam did sometimes wonder what lurked in the depths beneath them whenever he found himself this far out to sea. Nothing came surging out of the darkness though and soon enough they spotted the hull of the yacht and that of the Coast Guard ship that had just pulled up alongside it.

Programming their devices to maintain their position several yards below the hull, the pair waited for the signal from the Coast Guard. When a small light on the bottom of the ship flashed twice, they sprang into action, stowing their scuba gear with the propulsion devices and holding their breath as they swam to the surface.

Sam pulled himself up onto the port side of the yacht and padded onto the deck, Ben mirroring him on the starboard side. Sam could hear talking coming from the bow (where they had told the Coast Guard to pull Zahm and his crew's attention) and could just make out a few of Zahm's men around the enclosed bridge. This was going to be the tricky part. They had to strip out of their waterproof wetsuits and tack them to the side of the yacht to be retrieved later lest they leave a trail of water all through the boat. There was plenty of sea spray on deck to cover their tracks, but below deck was a different story. The last thing they wanted was a conspicuous trail leading directly to the arsenal.

They had both been practicing the maneuver and Sam knew they could both do it in about five seconds, but at any point one of Zahm's men might decide to turn around and spot them. Luckily they both stripped and stowed their gear without incident and Sam silently signaled them to head below.

Once below, they slid out their snake cams to check around opposite corners. The coast was clear on Sam's side and a quick nod from Ben told Sam the same was true on the right. Without delay, they split up as planned, Sam checking the left side of the boat and Ben the right. It would have taken too long to check the boat together, Zahm had too many smuggling holes to investigate. The good news was, they knew the rough position of each after inspecting the blueprints for the yacht and determining likely areas.

It only took Sam two minutes to find the first, a well disguised set of floorboards that lifted as one to reveal a sizeable cache below. Sam's eyes lit up as he beheld the stacks of weapons cases. Everything in his gut had told him that the arsenal would be here, but it was a relief nonetheless to actually find it.

But Sam didn't have time to dwell. He quickly deployed the nanobots, replaced the cover over the cache, and moved on.

The operation went smoothly from there. Sam had had to backtrack a few times to avoid someone in a corridor and once he had hidden stock still in the shadow behind a door that had swung his way, but no alarms had been raised. And there was no word from Ben, which was only good news as far as Sam was concerned. Twenty minutes later and Sam was reasonably sure he had found about half of the arsenal after checking the majority of the hiding spots. If Ben had had as much luck, then they were set. Still, Sam did his due diligence and checked the few remaining possible smuggling holes. Finding nothing there, Sam cautiously picked his way back up to the deck.

They had agreed beforehand not to wait for each other on the deck. They were better off leaving as they needed to and waiting below the surface.

Checking that no one was in the area, Sam slunk back over to his gear and released the reusable gel that had it glued to the side of the boat. Just as he was pulling his gear aboard, Sam heard the slapping of wet footsteps coming from around the cabin. Sam had nowhere to go and nowhere to hide so he did the only thing he could—gear tucked under one arm, he hoisted himself over the railing and lowered himself into the water, careful not to make a splash.

_So much for never getting into freezing water again_, Sam thought to himself as he clamped his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, though he had to admit it was numbing the pain in his knee. It wasn't ideal, but Sam was thankful he had jumped over when he smelled cigarette smoke coming from the deck above him. It had been a narrow miss.

With some difficulty, Sam pulled on his wetsuit. It was a lot more uncomfortable now that it was wet and cold on the inside too, but being uncomfortable pretty much came with the territory being a Splinter Cell. At least Sam wouldn't freeze to death.

Taking a deep breath, Sam headed back down to his scuba gear and donned it as well. He only waited a few minutes before Ben swam down to meet him. He had most likely been waiting for the smoking man to clear the deck.

Once Ben had geared back up, Sam gave him a questioning look. The meaningful nod Ben offered in return sent a wave of relief rushing through Sam.

Sam didn't trust many people in this world. It was the main reason he liked to work alone. That way he alone was responsible for the outcome of a mission. It was true that Sam had felt this mission was a two person job, but he would have risked doing it by himself rather than bring someone along he couldn't count on.

He was glad his trust hadn't been misplaced.

Going over to the Coast Guard boat, Sam pulled three times on a rope oh so casually dangling over the side away from the yacht—the sign that they had accomplished what they had come for.

After Sam gave the signal, he and Ben didn't linger. They turned their propulsion devices around and sped away from the yacht, not daring to surface until they were five miles out. Pulling off his diving mask, Sam turned on his OPSAT and called in the chopper to their location. Then he turned to Ben.

"How did it go?"

Ben slid off his mask and blinked heavily to clear the salt water that dribbled into his eyes. "About as well as you could expect. Had a few close calls, but I found the arsenal. You?"

"Same."

"It certainly went better than last time anyway."

Sam huffed. "You could say that."

Turning back to himself, Ben took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh.

Noticing, Sam threw out sympathetically, "You learn to deal with it, the nerves."

Ben looked up at Sam's words, perhaps not realizing himself what he was doing. He hesitated a moment, as if he were going to deny what was so clearly the truth, then he sighed once more and settled. "That obvious, huh?"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Sam offered. "I'd be more worried if you weren't nervous. But don't let those nerves get the better of you." Sam had seen too many good people let fear or anxiety dictate their actions. It rarely ended well. Ben was a good Splinter Cell. And a good person on top of it. He was much too valuable to lose to a stupid mistake made in the heat of the moment. If Sam could impart any amount of wisdom to keep that from happening, he would do it sooner rather than later. Meeting Ben's eye, he said, "You're good at this, Ben. I saw you train. I've read your file. You're a good Splinter Cell. You have good instincts. Trust them. Sometimes your gut is all you have to go by." Sam dipped his head. "I know that better than most."

Ben's gaze fell as Sam's speech ended, his thoughts turning inward. After a moment, his eyes lifted, seeming a bit clearer, a bit more focused. "Thanks," he tendered in return, a mutual respect and understanding passing between the two men. When the moment passed, Ben asked, "What now?"

Sam knew he was referring to more than just their immediate situation. "Now we wait. When those trackers go live, they'll lead us to every buyer at that auction and, through them, every major underground arms dealer location around the globe. The data those nanobots will feed us will help us shut down tenfold the amount of major crime and terrorist threats that taking the arsenal by itself would have."

Ben smiled. "You're starting to sound like Grim."

The comment wrung a chuckle from Sam. "Yeah, well. We've been working together a long time. I suppose it's only fair that she rubs off on me a little."

Changing the subject once again, Ben grew serious. "Are you mad we couldn't take Zahm?"

Sam shrugged. "Not as mad as he will be once he finds out he unwittingly sold out every major crime lord he invited to his auction. They'll connect the dots soon enough and once they do, he'll be begging us to arrest him." He wryly cocked his head. "No doubt he'll feed us even more intel when we oblige."

"Unbelievable," Ben replied incredulously. "So this was your plan all along?"

"No," Sam admitted with a smirk. "But sometimes things just work out."

Ben scoffed and shook his head, the pair falling into an amicable silence.

After a minute or so, Ben's demeanor changed. He looked to Sam and took a breath to speak, but when he opened his mouth, he closed it again, indecisiveness making him fidget.

Sam watched Ben curiously as he did this a few times. Sam wasn't really sure what to make of it. When it seemed like Ben would continue on in such fashion without end, Sam took matters into his own hands, opting for a straightforward approach. "Spit it out, Ben."

There was another moment of hesitation as Ben seemed to steel himself. Then he asked, "It was you, wasn't it?"

Sam squinted in confusion.

"In Korfovka, all those years ago. It was you who saved me."

Sam placed a carefully cultivated mask of obliviousness on his face. There was nothing he could say that Ben wouldn't read too much into, so Sam didn't say anything at all.

After the silence stretched for a moment, Ben gave half a smile and a small huff. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

But Sam was already reconsidering his silence. While he would never give away information that could be compromised, the secrecy of that mission was basically moot as it pertained to the mission at hand. And Ben had more than earned Sam's trust at this point. Ben obviously already suspected Sam's involvement, so Sam saw no problem in hinting at the truth. Ben deserved that much at least.

When Ben's eyes turned to scan the skies, Sam called back his attention. "Ben."

Swiveling around, Ben met Sam's gaze, his eyes searching Sam's.

"You saved my life," Sam offered sincerely. Ben didn't bother denying it. They both knew it to be true. "So let's just call it even, alright?" Sam concluded, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

A grin broke out over Ben's face and he gave an understanding nod, a trust born in that moment that would forever influence both of their lives.

There were many things Sam wished he could have done over in his life. So many moments he would have changed if given the chance.

But Sam never once regretted telling Ben the truth.

**THE END**

* * *

A relatively short one this time, but I hope you had fun reading it. Like I said, I just couldn't help but run a ton of different alternate scenarios through my head as to what could have happened at the end of the book as it always felt just a bit unresolved to me for some reason. In any case, this is what I came up with and I hope you enjoyed it!


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